434 



S. A. S. 



[Proc. B.K F.C., 



A simple life well lived, 



The four score years well past, 

 And wearied frame and active brain 



Are both at rest at last. 



No idle dreamer he, 



No seeker after gold, 

 But Earth's untrodden ways he took, 



Their secrets to unfold. 



The mountain and the moor, 



The torrent and the rill, 

 The lonely glen, the wayside track 



Held language for him still. 



A child of Nature, given 



A heart all Nature's own, 

 What wonder if her rarest, best, 



To him were not unknown. 



And now his honoured dust, 



By loving hands is laid 

 Within the shadow of the hills, 



Where oft he mused and strayed. 



A simple life, and yet 



A memory, to be 

 The witness of how grand a thing 



A simple life can be. 



W. Porter. 



June, 19 10. 



